


incident (nobody blames you)

by shr000m



Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Dave | Technoblade-centric, Gen, Technoblade Needs a Hug (Video Blogging RPF), Tired Wilbur Soot, Tommy has issues, TommyInnit is Not Okay (Video Blogging RPF), everyone is sad, idfk how to tag, technoblade is sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-22
Updated: 2020-12-23
Packaged: 2021-03-11 03:13:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,343
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28248198
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shr000m/pseuds/shr000m
Summary: Creepers were difficult to fight. Of course, Technoblade didn’t find them hard to fight. But his hands were sore, and he was slower than usual.He only sensed it behind him when he finished off the zombie and heard a terrified cry of, “TECHNOBLADE!” from behind him.
Comments: 7
Kudos: 269





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> TW:  
> -blood  
> -depressed thoughts   
> -explosions  
> -broken glass

Technoblade didn’t spar with his family.   
Not with Wilbur, not with Tommy. Not even with Phil. Not since the incident happened. 

What he did was go out in the night, and train then. He would use zombies and skeletons for practice, because it was so easy to lose control and fight for blood.   
To let himself succumb to the voices.

Blood for the blood god.

He shook himself and began stirring his potion again. He was making a potion of healing today. This one was one of the more common for him to make, in fear of his brothers or father being hurt. 

His shelves were lined with potions and poisons. The more common were potions of harming, potions of healing, regeneration potions, and poisons, although water-breathing tonics and tinctures for injuries were among the stacks. There were a lot of shelves in his room. 

Not much of his room was dedicated to fighting. He had a netherite sword hanging on his wall over a chest of weapons, and an armour stand with his armour, but that was it.   
It was probably too dangerous for him to have much else.

He continued stirring the potion. It was done. He reached for an empty glass bottle to pour it into, but missed.  
The bottle crashed to the floor, shattering.  
“Shit!” he cried out in shock, before his facial expression relaxed into a tense scowl like usual and he knelt to the floor, gathering shards into his hands. 

A skidding sound came to his attention and the door flew open.  
“Techno?!” Phil cried anxiously. Techno felt his heart sink.  
“It’s okay. I just broke a bottle.” he said quietly.  
“That’s okay. Did you get the dustpan and brush?” his father asked kindly.  
“No, my hands are fine.” Techno mumbled back, pouring the shards from his hands to the bin and noticing the small cuts that littered his palm and fingers.   
Phil’s gaze fixed on the blood and he stiffened. “This way, Techno. I’ll get the first aid kit.”  
“It’s okay, Phil. I’ll just use a potion of healing later.” Techno lied.   
He would never waste his supply on himself.  
“Let me.” Phil replied quietly, and led Technoblade to the bed. 

The younger man felt a tang of guilt. He couldn’t use his own tinctures, they were meant to help his family!  
But he couldn’t injure his hands. Or else he wouldn’t be able to save them.

*

Techno dealt one last blow to the zombie, feeling the rush of adrenaline in his veins.   
He hadn’t lost control yet tonight. The mobs almost seemed too easy.

That was before a creeper showed up.

Creepers were difficult to fight. Of course, Technoblade didn’t find them hard to fight. But his hands were sore, and he was slower than usual.   
He only sensed it behind him when he finished off the zombie and heard a terrified cry of, “TECHNOBLADE!” from behind him.

And then it’s blown up, and he’s flying through the air before he hits the ground.  
He can’t breathe. He coughs, but only tastes blood.   
Footsteps echo through the woods as a smaller boy runs towards him. He’s blonde, and wears a red and white shirt with a tear in it.

There is blood bubbling up in his brother’s mouth, and his eyes are dazed.  
Tommy scoops him up - not easily, but he trains against Wilbur, so he’s strong - and leans him against a tree.   
Techno blinks. He comes back to himself, and leans against the tree for support, coughing blood up onto the ground.   
A zombie is nearing. Tommy raises his sword, but he’s still thinking of his brother, and the zombie shoves him to the ground before a netherite sword plunged through his back and Techno falls against the tree in another coughing fit, eyes fixed on the blood on Tommy’s face.

“WILBUR!” Tommy screams.

*

Why’d they split up? It was stupid, Wilbur thought, but more efficient to help them find Techno.   
He wished he could feel annoyed, but all he felt was worry.  
He knew how much the incident had affected his brother mentally. It was in the way he obsessively brewed potions to protect them, the way he refused to train with them.

So Technoblade trained at night, against mobs. Wilbur sighed as he made his way through some trees.   
And that was when he heard a scream from his left.   
“WILBUR!”

*

Wilbur came running immediately. He surveyed the scene.  
The clearing had no mobs, but black blood sprayed across the floor, so mobs had been here. There was a crater in the ground - a creeper, Wilbur realised with horror.   
His older brother had fallen against a tree, and there was blood on his lips and on the floor around him. Tommy stood next to him, terrified, a cut on his cheek.

Wordlessly, he carried Technoblade home, his head spinning with paragraphs. Tommy was unusually silent beside him. 

Why?


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW  
> -self harm  
> -depressed thoughts  
> -short description of injury

part 2

When Technoblade woke up, he felt no pain.   
This was the first problem. 

He pulled up his sleeves to see that yeah, they’d been treated too, then pulled them down again, sinking into the bedsheets.  
There were bandages on his hands and arms, and his lungs no longer hurt like shit. The injury had probably been a broken rib puncturing his lung. 

And they had used his potions. On him. Fuck.   
He needed to stock up. He stumbled out of bed and-

“What are you doing?”

Phil.

“I need to replace the potions you used on me.” Techno said stiffly.   
Phil tensed visibly. “Technoblade, we need to talk about your methods of coping.”  
Techno spun around. “No, we don’t.” he spat.   
“Technoblade, you’re isolating and hurting yourself. You need to stop.” Phil said warningly.  
“No, I don’t.” Technoblade said angrily. 

“Would it help if I said we were all worried?”  
“No.” Technoblade screamed, advancing on his father. “Because that does not relate to any of yours health. And that is all I care about! That is the only reason I am still here!” 

And then Technoblade’s hands were around Phil’s neck and he was stumbling back, he was crying, he had done it again, he had done it again, he was a monster.

He could hear voices screaming at him. Yelling words into his ear. He was vaguely aware of a hand on his shoulder and a gentle word in his ear, but it was all drowned out by the yelling, and he threw himself onto the floor with his hands over his ears and screamed his throat raw.

*

“Phil, you need to see this.” Wilbur called into the next room.  
“What is it, Wil? Is he okay?” Phil asked, walking fast into Technoblade’s room.   
His oldest son’s sleeves were rolled up.   
“Oh.” Phil whispered.  
“I know.” Wilbur said quietly. “We need to talk about the incident.”  
Phil was silent.  
“You know I don’t blame him for it, Phil. He’s suffering. Have you noticed how he never uses his potions for himself? How he refuses point blank to spar with us?”

Wilbur stroked his older brother’s hair. Phil stayed silent. “He’s blaming himself, and trying to protect us in any way to make up for it.”

“I know.” Phil’s voice was quiet, and worn. “And I don’t know how to help him. At all.”

Wilbur frowned. “We have to trust him with weapons.”

“Bu-“ Phil protested.  
“Practicing defence, and brewing potions is a good coping mechanism. Cutting is not. We have to trust him to stop. Check up on him every once in a while.” Wilbur murmured.  
“Wil-“  
Wilbur stiffened. “Phil, I have been through this. This is what’s best for him. You can’t take away his shit.”

There was a pause. “We need to help him realise that using potions for himself is okay, and that self harm is a waste of time. We have to help with his voices. That is what we are doing.”

“What if he does it again?” Phil asked. His voice was small and vulnerable.   
“He won’t. Not if you let me handle it.” Wilbur replied.


End file.
